


Love is like an hourglass ;

by seotonine



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: HALA Ateez, Hospital Setting, More ships to be added, Multi, Possible Character Death, ateezverse, death scenes, lore inspired, mention of illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26447401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seotonine/pseuds/seotonine
Summary: Eight teenagers lose their way through space and time.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. The sandman

**Author's Note:**

> !!!! before anything let me say i'm not super familiar with ao3 tags so i've tried to write down everything that could be triggering, I'll try not to miss stuff with future chapters
> 
> anyways  
> my pandemic hobby is thinking about the implications of the diary film 
> 
> so this is my take on the "lore" of ateez and their mvs!!!! i don't think it's going to be very interesting to anyone but sharing is caring as they say
> 
> rather than trying to find the right interpretation/make an actual theory I just wanted to play around with what they've shown us, my focus is more on having fun with the plot than any pairing but I can't write anything TOO straight so it's still a bit there!  
> btw english isn't my first langage TT let's hope together the writing of this is not TOO awkward
> 
> have fun reading !!

There’s so much he’d like to tell his other self, to the point where it’s hard to stay silent as he observes him from a distance, experiencing too many things at once, anger, disgust and fear – conflicting feeling raging like a neverending storm above his head.

His shackled heart wants to yell _what is wrong with you ?_ to the peaceful boy sleeping on the warehouse’s old couch. The part of himself that was devoured by anger desired nothing more than to put his fist into that smiling face, to make it bleed. Yes, without a doubt – the person he’d become, who was unreasonable and so, so deeply hurt wanted to beat some sense into that clueless fool before it was too late.

_You lose them everytime,_ he wants to say.  _You let them sink into that dark, dark place and they never come back to the surface afterwards._

He says nothing  of the sort, keeping to his script instead.  H e’s surprised to see fear in the eyes of his other self when he takes  his first step in his directio n. He almost wants to tease him for it –  _come on, aren’t you supposed to be their_ _courageous_ _captain?_ b ut restrains himself, stopping instead to look at that strange person more closely. 

T h e  Hongjoong in front of him was suffering a lot already. 

Even if he was forced to use empty words, they still managed to understand each other intuitively. _Are you here going to destroy me ?_ The eyes of his younger self seem to be asking, and he’s sad that he can’t tell him everything he knows. He’d given up on seeking vengeance long ago, no, he’d given up on the _belief_ that vengeance would be able to fix anything after reaching the end of his long journey.

Figuring out just how wrong you are takes time ; only after an eternity had he learned there was nobody to blame but himself. Fire couldn’t destroy him, he _was_ fire, turning his most precious thing to ashes, to fine sand that slipped through his fingers and disappeared.

H is treasure had been taken by the waves,  swallowed into the endless sea. 

_You’re at the center of this. You’re the one who makes the compass spin,_ he wants to tell this pure-hearted Hongjoong. 

Once again, he suppresses this instinct and sticks strictly to the plan.

An important meeting couldn’t be wasted on sentimentality ; he had to do everything in his power to save this precious person in front of him. _To save him from himself_ , actually.

\- You lost your dream not because of the tough reality, but because you guys decided to.

Deep down, he knew that the overwhelming anger that w as threatening to get to his head w asn’ t directed at that kind, loving kid sitting on the old couch. The young pirate he was going to be handing his precious hourglass over to had done nothing wrong yet,  a nd because time was fragile, akin to a mirror, so easy to break – giving him  too many warning s  was forbidden .

He couldn’t share his pain with the only person who might have been able to understand it,  all he could do was give him  _time,_ so he leaves the  Cromer on the small table ,  wonder ing if his tired eyes can communicate what he  needs the other him to know so badly.  _D_ _on’t let this desire consume you_ . 

\-  Follow your heart. The map is there. 

_You might not make it on your own -_

_but if it’s them, if it’s **us** , then nothing is impossible. _

_*.*.*_

It had been another unremarkable day at the hideout, which Hongjoong didn’t mind at all.

He loved this sense of _routine_ the others gave him ; it was okay if every morning, afternoon and evening were the same as long as they were all perfect like this. The comfortable warmth, the sound of laughter, the feeling of eight hearts running together toward the same goal - for the first time in his life, he had something he could take pride in.

This once empty warehouse had become the happiest place in the world.

And, because everyday was a little bit like the former one, but never quite perfectly identical – today again somebody seemed to have a hard time going back to their house for the night.

\- You _really_ like cleaning, he remarks plainly.

\- It’s on my to-do list for today, that’s all, Seonghwa answers after neatly putting away one of the pile of dust he’d swept up from under the carpets.

He couldn’t help but find the way his friend focused as he was doing chores deeply endearing. There was nothing left of the cool guy who coached them during the afternoons, who would take the lead at times – no, all he could see right now was a weird person who cared about leaving the hideout in a _better_ state than when he arrived, sorting trash into different colored bags according to a system only he could understand. 

\- It’s on your « to-do list » to clean an abandoned warehouse... You know they’re gonna come back tomorrow and trash the place all over again, right ?

\- You realize I’m picking up the wrappers of the many snacks _you_ buy for them, don’t you ? 

He smiles at him, even if he feels a little bit annoyed for being called out. Off course, he stopped at the convenience store everyday. Spoiling them was his small but certain happiness. It had to feel like magic, that the snack cupboard was always full with their favorite things.

For the same reason, Seonghwa never asked anybody to help him clean the place. He flinched when they left garbage lying around or ate a little too close to the carpet - he couldn’t _count_ just how often the eldest showed up with some weird bottle of bleach in his bag in order to get rid of some abysmal stain Wooyoung had left there or on the couch – but never scolded anyone for acting carelessly. Everyone had a different way of showing love.

Some people were simple. They just said it, they hugged, cuddled, kissed, laughed with you without a second thought ; and some people were like Seonghwa, quiet and dedicated and _awkward,_ looking for the method that would allow them to express their affection without ever having to show vulnerability to the ones they loved, without exposing just how they cared. 

\- What’s so funny ? His friend asks all of a sudden, probably feeling pressured by how intently he’d watching him for a while now.

He laughs at that and stands up from the couch to pick up a broom. It was starting to get late and he felt just a bit guilty that his dear friend was once again staying overtime for a chore that should have been his responsibility.

He was a lot more like Seonghwa than he would have liked, sharing this belief that love was _hard work._ Love meant you had to be reliable, you had _expectations to meet,_ and that you had to be grateful for that burden too – otherwise, the people around you would start to worry. To his friends, he wanted to show only the bright fun side of himself.

\- It’s okay to enjoy cleaning. You don’t have to justify it. You can just do it for no reason, he teases his friend as he starts sweeping dust.

Seonghwa shrugs, and he could tell his attempts at conversations were starting to get on his nerves, so, for a little while, he works in silence to help him finish to tidy up the place. It’s not fun at all for him, but he can see his friend relax more and more as he gets into the groove of those repetitive tasks. He’s not sure if Seonghwa even remembers he’s there at all.

\-  Hey, w hat happens if you don’t complete your to-do list ?  He asks to break up the silence.

\- It just means I’ve wasted my day, his friend answers without even looking away from the shelves he’s busy cleaning.

His hand drops the broom when that sentence ends. Those words hurt, and they hurt in _a physical sense,_ like a strange headache. He doesn’t understand why, but his knees feel ready to give up under him. Closing his eyes doesn’t make it go away either.

Once he tries to shut down the world around him, all he finds a blinding light under his eyelids instead of comforting darkness, and when he tries to make sense of that strange image, _he sees sand_ _, sand falling down,_ endlessly _,_ _hurting him as they hit the ground,_ like a thousand little needles drilling into his head one by one.

There is a dark silhouette deep within those layers of bright, reflective sand, but he can’t focus on it as the pain gets worse and worse. 

Th is vision seems to last forever,  holding him captive against his will. He wants to open his eyes so badly now  and they simply won’t,  and it lasts long enough to freak him out. It’s almost like a dream, but not quite. 

_ « I t just means I’ve wasted my day . » _

_Why does it sound so wrong?_

\- Hongjoong. You have to lay down.

When his eyes awaken again to reality, Seonghwa is dragging him to their largest couch. He’s too dazed to resist. His headache was over so suddenly, yet he still felt exhausted and weak and just a little bit _anxious_ since it made no sense for his body to turn against him like that without giving so much as a warning. 

H is frien d  fluff s a pillow before putting it under his head  and  rush es to grabs a few blankets  from a pile he’d just finished tidying up .  His hands are  visibily shaking. 

\- Do you get… migraines ?

H e shakes his head no. Seonghwa sighs.

\- Maybe it’s just stress. You’re do ing too much and your body is telling you to slow down,  he tries again.

He seems desperate to rationalize what had just happened.

He takes a deep breath. He couldn’t tell him the truth, because it made no sense. If he told Seonghwa about his sand hallucination, they would just be two idiots trying to explain the unexplainable, and as a leader, it was his duty to protect the member’s peace of mind. Lying was better than worrying someone.

Seonghwa puts a hand on his forehead to check for a fever.

\- You’re a little warm.

\- I’m fine.

\- Seriously ? You’re fine ? You almost collapsed and you think you’re fine ?

His friend looks irritated now.

If he could make a guess, taking care of him wasn’t on the to-do list for today. In Seonghwa’s life… there was always a plan, a step-by-step program that, and he could never muster the courage to admit to his face just how much this orderly thought process scared him when he dwelled on it for too long.

_What if they failed ? Then, would he have to take responsibility for selfishly stealing the better part of his life ?_ This was the type of questions that haunted his head when he was alone and usually, he ran away from those thoughts by throwing himself into music, writing lyrics and composing so that the fear would disappear, but silencing it didn’t make it go away completly.

\- Don’t make me go to the hospital.

\- I won’t. I can’t believe how calm you are right now, but you know your body better than I do.

He forces a smile. Seonghwa was trying so hard to show restraint. He grabs his phone, probably researching his symptoms on the internet in a vain attempt to soothe himself.

Maybe he could make an effort and try to think this through with him, to use his logic instead of hyperfocusing on the rain of sand from the vision. There wasn’t any weird medical conditions running in his family, he’d eaten properly today, drank a lot of water, so stress was indeed the best hypothesis ; but he had been feeling just fine when he’d picked up the broom to help with cleaning.

_So it had to be those words._

\- Are you wasting your days with us, Seonghwa ? He whispers weakly.

His friend stares back at him in shock.

He feels sorry for putting yet another concern in his head, but Seonghwa’s expression softens, as if the reasons for his panic had disappeared at once. He puts his phone in his pocket, and then there’s a long silence where he can tell his friend is _observing_ him before giving his answer.

\- I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not wasting my time... I am wasting my _own_ time by not working hard enough. It’s because the moments we have together are precious that I have to be strict with myself. There’s only so much « youth » in life. If I want the team to rely on me…

\- Don’t be reliable. Just be you, and we’ll be fine. I promise.

_I love you as you are right now._

He’s so relieved to hear his explanation. It mirror his own feelings almost perfectly. Maybe he’d derailed Seonghwa’s perfect plans for life with his big dreams of fame and music, but he didn’t look unhappy when they were together, _p_ _recious_ was the right word for what they shared here. He’d just have to do a better job as a leader to take pressure of Seonghwa’s shoulders in the future, so that he could feel treasured whether he completed his silly lists or not. A dream as huge as the one their team had couldn’t be reached through a simple step by step plan. Mistakes should be cherished too. They were part of the journey too, lessons to remember as they grew.

He’s not bold enough yet to say all this outloud, to tell Seonghwa that the most beautiful people were also the most flawed, and that it’s why he wants to keep him close all the time, because he’s so perfectly imperfect, because _he’s what he wants his music to sound like,_ a pretty dissonance, a breathtaking cacophony.

Seonghwa doesn’t answer his last sentence, but he knows he’s been heard.

They spent another half hour in the warehouse before walking home. He gets many, _many_ text messages from him before he goes to bed too, falling asleep almost right after typing « good night » in their private chat.

In his dream that night, like magic, the sand that had piled up on the ground during his vision starts going back up again. He’s back in that somber place, but there is seemingly nobody hidden in the beautiful whirlwind, and he stays still for a long time, observing this miracle in silence, but – he’s a curious person, and at some point, without even realizing, he looks up.

And the entire sky is made of sand.

And the sand starts falling down again, with a silhouette in the middle, unreachable and yet so close.


	2. Sinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry dear readers i fear that this chapter will be very unsatisfying because the plot doesn't progress a lot !!  
> thanks for leaving kudos, I still wonder if anything I'm writing is interesting from a outside point of view but getting comments comforts my tired heart   
> I have added new warnings in the tag ; for clarification, there is no major character death planned BUT there will be like. death-related dreams for plot reasons, and I don't want to spring that on anyone
> 
> Anyways!! This is technically part 2 of the "prologue" part of this fic, hence why it's a little repetitive in format (or maybe i just like writing this pov? who knows), next chapter is the final part of my prologue and then we can get into *fun action* eventually!!

\- Why did it have to be me ?

\- Why would it _not_ have to be you, Mingi ?

Mingi rolls his eyes. Off course it had to be him ; they’d arranged his doctor appointment to be specifically on a tuesday morning _because_ they all knew his spanish teacher was on sick leave and hadn’t be replaced yet. It was Seonghwa’s brilliant idea.

He’d agreed to it only to get to spend more time with Mingi, only half expecting him to actually show up on the day. This was a chore that had very little to do with the work they did together at the warehouse, after all. He blamed himself for falling prey to those brutal headaches again during the middle of dance practice. If he’d managed to solve this issue earlier… he could have saved everyone a lot of anxiety.

Mingi picks a spot for them in the doctor’s waiting room. Not that it mattered all that much ; the entire place was a gloomy as he’d expected, sterile and sad like the rest of the building. It made him miss the warmth of his own bedroom even more. Everybody here looked unhappy.

He tries to lean on Mingi’s shoulder – maybe if he closed his eyes for a while, time would go by a little faster.

\- Hey, let’s not do that, his friend protests.

\- But I want to nap...

\- Don’t care.

He rolls his eyes and straightens his posture.

If Mingi wanted them to stare at white walls for twenty minutes, fine, he’d do just that.

Maybe he’d earned this kind of punishment for making the entire team worry. He’d had to insist to even be allowed to keep practicing with them until this appointment ; and it was torture too, to have everyone treat him like a fragile porcelain doll whenever they rehearsed difficult moves. Explaining that the problem was mostly _in his head_ didn’t help one bit ; they couldn’t see his visions of sand. Instead, they witnessed his face cycle through the worst expressions of pain _,_ his hands move to hold his head when it started, and his breathing get worse and worse as it progressed. They saw him unable to speak and ask for help. _Off course they were scared._

Mingi hands him one of his earbuds and waits for him to put it in his ear before gently nudging his head toward his shoulder.

\- I’m not heartless, alright ? But is this not uncomfortable for you ?

\- It’s good.

If he wasn’t so terrified of the medical examination to come, he could easily have fallen asleep ; leaning on Mingi made him feel safe. He watches him scroll through his playlist and decide on a song for them. Because they’re only wearing one earbud each, the music gets mixed with the noises of the waiting room, but he doesn’t hate it. His friend had picked something soulful with a warm instrumental and a slow tempo, and it was bringing some life back into this depressing room, slowly but surely.

Mingi takes out a familiar notebook from his bag and starts scribbling, making sure to move in a way that wouldn’t disturb him. He can barely read the words out of the corner of his eyes, but he recognizes some of the verses they’d worked on together. Figuring out the raps for their new tracks was one of his favorite part of the artistic process ; Mingi always brought a new perspective to the table, and was confident enough in his own abilities to stand up to him sometimes. He made him want to take more risk with his rapping too – they couldn’t help but try to outdo each other with each new song.

A page suddenly catches his attention. The lyrics are written in blue ink, and they’ve been modified several time, to the point where many parts are barely legible – he really has to strain his eyes to make sense of some of those sentences, but the little bits and pieces he understands seems to revolve around the theme of friendship.

\- You’ve never shown me this one, he comments.

\- I’m not done yet.

He was pretty sure _who_ those lyrics were about if he were to trust the rhymes, but he didn’t want to make Mingi uncomfortable by asking too many questions. Despite his strong appearance, he was still a shy person at heart.

He tries to focus on the music in his ear instead of the notebook ; after a few more slow songs, his eyes naturally close themselves. He’s woken up by Mingi when it’s his turn to go into the doctor’s office.

The appointment in itself is pretty uneventful.

He’s asked a lot of questions about his lifestyle and about school – _are you eating enough ? Are you stressed ? -_ in a way that makes it obvious the doctor had already made up their mind about his issue. He can’t fault them, because people his age were supposed to be at the peak of heir health ; only adults were ever allowed the priviledge of having _real_ problems. He gets a little queasy when they inquire about his family’s medical history, but the topic is quickly forgotten, eclipsed by more questions about his messed up sleep schedule and bad eating habits. He’s introduced to the concept of a migraine diary, the doctor hands him a prescription for dietary supplements, and that’s it.

All that anxiety and anticipation for nothing.

He knew he’d only agreed to this because the team needed some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t tragically ill, but he can’t help but feel like a fool for the time he’d just wasted. He could have made progress on a new song. Mingi could have stayed in bed.

It was hard to believe a few vitamins would fix the mess going on his head.

He goes back to the waiting room where his friend had been patiently waiting. Mingi doesn’t seem too surprised when he reports the doctor’s opinion back to him, and since there’s some time left before his classes, he offers to take him to a nice food place he knows for a late breakfast. It’s a short walk from the hospital.

As always, he’s surprised with his friend’s pick. From the outside, it looks too shabby to even be a real restaurant, but they’re greeted warmly once they enter and a person he guesses to be the owner starts chatting with Mingi – _are you well ? Ah, do you need a menu for your new friend ?_ before ushering to a comfortable-looking booth. The decoration inside was a bit tacky, trying too hard for a retro feel, yet he couldn’t help but find it charming. It was easy to tell that every picture on the wall had been handpicked by someone who cared a lot about making this place feel homely.

\- You’re popular, he teases Mingi. Do you come here often?

\- Wooyoung drags me here when he feels like it.

The mental image of the two childhood friends sharing lunch in this cozy restaurant makes him smile - no matter how hard they tried to deny it, Wooyoung and Mingi truly loved each other in a special way. It was no surprise that the owner of this place had grown attached to them ; because were such an unlikely pair, so their antics were always amusing to watch.

Wooyoung was the sun, lively and bright, to Mingi’s quiet, pensive moon.

He browses quickly through the menu. This shop specialized in _delicious-looking_ toasted sandwiches, so he picks one to try at random. While he places his order, he notices Mingi frowning at his phone, looking more and more frustrated by the second. His friend types out a long reply and then deletes the paragraph he’d just written before sighing loudly.

Once the waitress is away, he finally speaks up.

\- Seonghwa needs to stop texting during class. It’s getting seriously annoying.

He gets the impression that what Mingi really wants to say is _« you need to tell Seonghwa to stop harassing me through texts »,_ but at this point, he’d gotten used to the roundabout his teammates liked to request his help. Even though he wished they could solve their problems within themselves more often, he didn’t dislike his mediator role.

\- Does he message you often ? He asks tentatively.

\- All day everyday. It’s like a second mom at this point, Mingi explains. I don’t understand why he has to ask _everyone but you_ how you’re doing.

_Ah –_ it’s his turn to sigh.  He’d heard those words before, back when they were just a three-person team with him, Yunho and Seonghwa, and it wasn’t any more enjoyable the second time around. 

\- He even thought you might be doing drugs or something and asked me about it… Do I look like I’d be doing that with you? I’m on a sports team, for the love of god.

Mingi’s expression is one of disappointment and confusion. There’s a hint of sadness in his voice too, as if the fact that a friend could think so lowly of him was the greatest betrayal he could ever imagine – and seeing him like that broke his heart, because he knew Mingi was way too kind-hearted to ever confront Seonghwa about this directly. It didn’t mean they weren’t good friends ; if anything, this was a sign of the opposite. The more you cared about someone, the easier it became to forget about your own pain in order to put their feelings first.

\- You look like a large teddy bear. Soft and nice and very huggable… if anything, you seem like the person who would _protect me_ from drug dealers, he tries to reassure Mingi.

The priority right now was to make him feel better, and the compliment works as intended. Being called _huggable_ in particular seems to strike his friend ; his whole face brightens up at the word, even if he quickly manages to conceal it under a more neutral expression. The waitress appears with their food too as he finishes his sentence, and he’s thankful for the additional distraction.

They chew quietly for a while. Even though the sandwich tastes amazing, he can’t enjoy it at all, the flavours spoiled by his negative thoughts.

Knowing Seonghwa was now asking the others to monitor him bothered him too much.

He checks his phone to make sure he hasn’t missed something, only to find that his only new notifications are from their general group chat and a few texts from Yunho. He’s not sure _why_ it upset him so greatly. His fingers are itching to send some kind of provocative message to his older friend – _so, you think I do drugs ? -_ but he doesn’t go through with it. It’s not like he wasn’t aware of the good intentions behind this behaviour; he just didn’t share his belief that you could protect somebody against their will. He’d never _asked_ to be treated like a little kid.

\- What are you gonna do about your migraines now ? Mingi asks after a moment.

\- What do you mean ?

\- You know… are you actually going to rest at all ?

His friend is looking at him insistently.

 _Don’t you dare try to bullshit me,_ his eyes seem to say, so he puts down his food and takes a deep breath, trying to actually give the question some thought. Mingi was too good at seeing through his lies anyway. They wrote lyrics together after all, so he’d had to expose his worst anxieties to him on several occasions just to make sure his friend would be comfortable enough doing the same in his verses later on.

Teenage hearts were full of contradictions, so when talking couldn’t help them understand each other’s pain, they communicated through songs, looked for prettier words to express the ugliest emotions. Their true selves met within the utopia of music

Mingi knew why he hated taking breaks, and that was something he’d been reluctant to confide in _forever,_ something that not even Seonghwa or Yunho knew about.

\- I don’t want to, he finally lets out. But it’s not like you guys are going to give me a choice, is it ?

\- Don’t say it like that. You make it sound like it’s a bad thing that we care about you.

_I’ve earned that reproach,_ he thinks to himself, and because it’s Mingi in particular he’s talking to, an apology almost escapes his lips, the feelings he’d bottled up threatening to spill out at any moment. He couldn’t resent Seonghwa for being avoidant when he’d set such a terrible example as a leader.  Even if he wanted to received this simple message –  _hey, are you doing okay ? -_ he knew he wasn’t ready to give a sincere answer to that question, wasn’t ready to be  _cared for_ just yet. 

\- You should rely on us more, Mingi adds. We’re a great team, so you don’t have to shoulder every burden on your own.

First, there’s a ringing noise in his ears ; and then, the familiar symptoms start showing up.

His eyes can’t withstand the light around him, and close themselves, sealing him to this hellish place he’d already visited twice.

He’d expected it, but the vision of sand inside his head, this time, is worst than ever before, and his friend’s words echo in his head for much longer too ; _we’re a great team,_ he hears again and again as he realizes his body is struggling against something. It’s not just rain anymore. There’s sand up to his knees, and it feels very, _very real._

Every little grain falling on him hurts just as hard as he’s used to, and he can’t dodge it or run away. He tries to yell but can’t make a sound, so it’s a silent cry for a help – the sands keeps piling up, higher and higher, quickly reaching his chest. No matter how much he fights it, he’s fully paralyzed, and barely able to focus on his surroundings for more than a few seconds at at time, his senses numbed by the pain – still, he sees he dark silhouette from before. _Help me,_ he screams. His voice doesn’t come out. Eventually, there’s sand up to his neck, up to his mouth, and then the worst happens as it gets into his lungs.

The asphyxiation is slow. His mind loses the ability to form coherent thoughts as every part of himself tenses up, making one last desperate attempt to escape this, but there’s no use, and he doesn’t wake up from this nightmare – instead, his brain offers him a few images, of the restaurant, the warehouse, of his family’s old house, as if it was attempting to convince him that this was really the end. _We’re a great team_ resounds in his ears one last time before he stops choking.

There’s a comforting kind of silence in his head and then, the distinct sensation of somebody else’s hand squeezing his palm.

Mingi is sitting on his side of the booth.

His friend pulls him into a hug the moment they make eye contact.

Even if he really shouldn’t, he allow himself to melt into his arms. The fear leaves his body slowly as Mingi hugs him tighter and tighter. He couldn’t remember he’d ever been held like that before, but it helps him calm down. Unlike the embrace of sand, being in Mingi’s care felt like safety, like home _._ His breathing steadies after a minute. It takes a few more until he stops shaking, and even more until he’s ready to let go. Believing he’s still alive is hard.

And to think he was supposed to fix this issue with _vitamins and rest_ was even more laughable now.

Those visions were messing up his sense ; his eyes have get used to the sweet decor of the shop again, to the fact that the world was much nicer than those waking nightmares he had to endure, and it’s a challenge, to trust what he sees to be real. The suffocation and the sand had felt real too.

He didn’t even know how much time had passed while he was stuck in that sand sea.

Mingi forces his glass of water into his palm.

\- This… this is serious, he says. I’ll walk you home. School can wait.

He takes a sip and stares at him in disbelief.

Mingi never, _ever_ skipped class.

He knew the burden on his friend’s shoulders. While as a leader, he carried the weight of everyone’s hopes of success, what Mingi had to bear was the undescribable despair of a family trying to get out of the seemingly endless pit of poverty. Unlike the priviledged kids to whom good grades were nothing but a status symbol, he’d never had to asked himself _if_ he had to get into a prestigious university, _why_ he had to chase a well-paying job he wouldn’t care for, only _how._ Going to the warehouse so often was already self-indulgent by his strict standards.

It felt like a fever dream, to think that Mingi would offer to break his perfect attendance record _for him_ of all people, so he almost asks him, _just how bad did it look from your perspective, while I was dying in that dream ?_ But ultimately doesn’t.

\- I don’t want to get you in trouble with your parents, he objects weakly.

\- It’s not your problem. Come on, let’s go. We can even hold hands if you like.

Mingi neatly folds the wrapper of his toast sandwich to put it away in his bag, and, as if to prove he means what he said, grabs his hand to lead him out of the booth.

It’s both ridiculous and very touching at the same time _._

The walk home is quiet. Unlike his bestfriend, Mingi was never one to fill the air with empty small talk, and he could understand that he needed to process what had happened just as much as he did. He’d also noticed the buzzing of notifications coming from his phone. The others must have gotten tired of waiting for updates by now, and school might have called his family too.

\- Can you send me your playlist ? He asks when they’re almost at his house.

Mingi mumbles _sure_ without much enthusiasm, completly lost in thoughts.

He’d remembered the songs they listened to in the waiting room together, how they’d made him feel _safe_ for a little while.

He’s not given a goodbye hug, or any other sweet gesture once they’re at his door. He’s too proud to ask for it too or to express his gratitude too loudly. Only a weirdo would say something like _thank you for hugging me and holding my hand, Mingi,_ and Mingi himself had better things to do than indulging him even more. He was so afraid of what he’d forced his friend to witness today.

It was better to pretend for now.

_There’s no vision. Let’s live life as normal._

_Let’s not worry anymore._

Somehow, it was hard to believe his own lies.


	3. The paradox of limited freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end I didn't manage to finish all of Hongjoong's stuff in this chapter... ! it was already so long!   
> Have a fun read, I hope I can keep this rythmn of update because I'm still very excited about the direction of all of this ^u^
> 
> also fiy i don't proofread so if there's typos i'm sorry! i'll go back and fix it eventually but i gotta get some real sleep first

\- Again.

\- Let’s take a break, Yeosang.

They’d been at it for more than an hour.

Recording was like that sometimes,slow and tedious, even if for once he wasn’t the reason this particular session was dragging on for so long. Had it been up to him, they’d have stopped twenty minutes ago already ; his younger friend, however, didn’t seem to share this opinion. He’d gotten sick of hearing the word _again_ in his mouth.

Whenever he tried to move on from one part of the song to the next, Yeosang found a minor aspect of his performance to improve upon, which was just weird – his « okay » should have been proof enough that they didn’t have to keep going.

His friend seemed fixated on the idea that nothing he could do was good enough today. _A_ _a_ _gain,_ _a_ _gain,_ _a_ _gain_ _-_ fighting this counterproductive cycle was like trying to swim upstream in the middle of a waterfall, and he was too tired to win.

\- When do you need to be back at your place ? He asks once Yeosang joins him on the couch.

His friend was still wearing his school uniform, only with the tie undone.

They’d started working the minute he’d arrived at the warehouse, Yeosang barely warming up before jumping into the recording session. He hadn’t seen it as an issue with it back then, because he was excited to make progress on their music, yet, in hindsight this hastiness should definitly have set off an alarm. All the members had been so careful around him recently, Yeosang included. They asked twice before making him do any kind of effort, so he’d thought today would have been the same.

It was their first time doing this one-on-one, but from what he knew of his younger friend, he’d expected an easy, laidback session. The song they had to work on was one he was really proud of too.

Now he was just looking for a good excuse to end it early – there was only so much _again_ he could endure until his patience ran out, and the rest of the group wouldn’t join them until much later today.

\- I didn’t tell my parents I ditched the violin lessons yet, so we have a lot of time together, his friend answers him.

The instrument in question was still in its case, abandoned in a corner of the couch, looking as miserable as an inanimate object could be. He’d almost forgotten about its presence - Yeosang rarely talked about it, on some occasions even hiding it away under their table, as if even the sight of a violin could disturb his peace of mind.

He’d only ever heard him play only once, not long after their first meeting.

That memory was vivid in his head, full of contrasting colors and clashing feelings. That day, when it had been just the two of them in the warehouse, he remembered thinking about how easy it’d be to fall in love with someone who understood music so well, remembered thinking that everything about Yeosang was magical, ethereal, and _s_ _urreal,_ almost like an hallucination or a mirage.

Surely, there were more skilled violonists out there , people who practiced harder, who performed more complicated pieces – but none of that mattered, because what Yeosang accomplished was _meaning_ and _lightness_.

In an effort to clear up the tension in the air, he closes the gap between the two of them on the couch and starts running his fingers through his friend’s thin blond hair.There had to be a lot on his mind right now, _«_ _We_ » have a lot of time, Yeosang had said, so innocently, and to his ears, this sounded like a request.

He was just sorry for not understanding it earlier : throwing himself into work to avoid thinking about more complicated issues was his personal specialty, so he should have been to recognize that same behaviour in his friend.

They both needed to take a breath.

This warehouse was _their_ hideout, the secret place where they could always go when they heart felt heavy. Once they stepped in, the clock stopped : no more schedules no more classes, and everything went quicker than the flap of a butterfly wing as they talked and laughed and forgot who they were supposed to be.

That’s why the frustration he’d experienced during the recording had felt so alien, like a remnant of the outside world accidentally brought into this safe haven, a piece of « normal life » he wasn’t used to anymore. After all, as the keeper of this unlikely paradise, it was his duty to keep the thoughts of stress and fear as far away as possible, even if Yeosang could never completly forget what was expected of him.

His friend had actually decided to skip his violin lessons on his own, long before they’d even met – he’d told him privately how he’d just wanted to do _anything but_ _what his parents wanted_ before stumbling upon their group as he was looking for somewhere peaceful to play with his robotics projects.

That initial plan was a resounding failure considering he’d managed to bump into seven people at once, but they’d gained an invaluable asset in the process, and he’d never gone back to the music academy afterwards, he’d tasted a freedom too sweet. He’d discovered new dreams.

And even through he cherished his memory of him playing the violin, he still thought his friend shone a thousand time harder when they danced together, finally getting to tell a story that was _entirely his_ , and this light was a treasure he’d sworn to protect.

\- It was so weird, Yeosang says. My dad thought I had to like it, because I _love_ music, but it was fully unenjoyable, so it just managed to make me feel more and more stupid each time I went.

His friend leans back a little, positionning his head into his lap, like he’d did so often when they talked together. The demon of _again, again, again_ was beginning to leave his body, and the regular Yeosang was back with him, so he pays extra attention to his words. Perhaps, he was the one who understood this struggle the best.

Music had been unenjoyable in the past for him too, albeit for a different reason.

\- The worst part is that I followed the lessons. I learned the pieces. The teacher was satisfied with me, but I wasn’t satisfied with myself. Isn’t that the worst ?

He nods ; adults had a special talent for ruining what they loved.

He remembered actually liking mathematics and geography and just _reading_ in general before school made it into a competition of who could absorb the most information in the shortest amount of time. When he was younger, he was naïve enough to believe this way of learning was right. Like Yeosang described, he’d done everything the people in a position of authority wanted from him, but as it turns out, you could learn a lot and still not feel any smarter for it. He’d gotten those « good grades » that were supposedly so important, and received adequate praise for his efforts, without ever actually feeling happy for those achievements, because the praise of adults was always so empty and full of hidden motives. They weren’t proud of him.

They were proud of themselves for turning him into what they needed him to be.

\- I hate it. To be told « good job » when I’m half-assing it.

Yeosang leaves his comfortable place in his lap to sit upright, grabbing the musical instrument he’d previously abandonned on the couch. His fingers start fiddling with the pegs of his violin, as if they were itching to take them apart.

His friend was a genius when it came to disassembling or reassembling panything, from electronics to old toys. He made it look incredibly easy, almost as if his mind simply _knew_ the solution to those complicated problems without having had to study them in the traditional way.

In dancing too, Yeosang was eerily advanced for someone who’d begun training a few months ago. When they practiced together, he was able reconnect with the incredible intuition his parents had been trying so hard to suppress.

He really loved to watch him move to the rythm of the beats he’d created and there was always a stunning moment of grace when his friend forgot he had to dance well and just _danced,_ like a child who’d heard music for the first time in his life and just wanted to bask in the sound forever. It was the paradox of limit freedom, that even a bird born in captivity knew to long for the sky without even seeing it once ; and dancing was Yeosang’s sky, without a doubt.

He was a little less fond of his tinkering habit, or rather, of this _coping mechanism_ of dismantling objects to deal with his emotions. A lot of the relief his friend got from it must have come from the fact that busying his hands was a good way to chase away distressing thoughts, but the more he looked at him touch the violin, the more uneasy he felt. Sick, even.

_I hate to be told « good job »._

His own hands were lonely now that he couldn’t play with Yeosang’s hair or feel him close to his body – just like he’d experienced during the recording, there was an abyss, a rift he couldn’t cross over. No matter how hard he tried to comfort his friend and be there for him, there would always be a violin, a curfew or another stupid rule to remind them they didn’t belong to the same world.

Outside of this warehouse, nobody expected him to do a « good job » or anything like that anymore.

He grits his teeth.

In the past month, he’d become well-acquainted with this nauseating emotion that lead to his visions. The migraine diary hadn’t been entirely useless either : the triggers to his headaches were getting more and more obvious. He was even able to stay conscious for a few more seconds when he anticipated them – but torture was still torture even when you saw it coming.

Once again, his eyes are welcomed by the familiar sight of sand. He doesn’t focus on it when the vision begins, going straight for the distant silhouette this time, taking difficult steps through the yellow rain. The sting was worse than before. He didn’t care. After suffocating to death in this place, the rain didn’t scare him anymore. If he could move, he could win, and some of the sand gets caught up in his mouth and nose again, but he keeps running.

Whoever was watching him from a distance was be responsible for this, this hellish thing that kept happening when he was with his friends. He refused to believe it was a dream or a coincidence, and he finally ends up crashing against a glass wall that he swears wasn’t there before.

The silhouette is on the other side - he bangs his fists on the wall and screams.

_What do you want from me ?_

His voie doesnt come out. The stranger doesn’t move.

Sands keep falling while this person stands in front of him, safe and unperturbed.

He understood now why it was so hard to see them from a distance ; they’re dressed entirely in black, a mask hiding their mouth and a large fedora covering their eyes. _What do you want from me ?_ he mouthes one more time.

There’s some blood running down his own fingers - the sand was falling so fast now that not only did the impact hurt of it, but the friction itself was also tearing his skin apart, like claws digging into his flesh. Still, he bangs his fist again the glass again. All he wanted was an answer.

He’d searched so hard in the real world for a logical explanation, and there was none ; yet, he kept been taken to this mysterious place where a stranger seemed to delight in the spectacle of his suffering. _What do you want for me ?_

He’s met with silence.

When he wakes up from the vision, Yeosang is holding his hand.

After his appointment at the hospital, the team had had a long conversation on what the team was supposed to do if he ever had one of these « migraines » in their presence, their primary concern being that he’d end up injuring himself if they weren’t careful enough. During the visions, he was fully disconnected from his senses, feeling only what was happening in the sand world. He didn’t hear his friends calling his name ; in that sense, it was more similar to a comatose state than an actual migraine.

However, he’d was almost sure that touch helped end it, so that’s all he’d requested from them, that they’d help him lie down and would hold his hands until it was over. This also had the advantage of preventing him from grabbing his head whenever the vision started – there’d been a few time where his nail had left a trace on his skin from how hard he’d held onto his temples.

\- I’m sorry, Yeosang says.

He looks panicked, and even if he didn’t share his concerns, he couldn’t fault him for worrying. After all, he’d barely managed to make feel comfortable enough to actually vent about what was on his mind - only to end up passing out before they’d even finish talking. He hated it so much, that all his best efforts always ended up wasted by those migraines.

\- I’m okay. It’s getting better anyway, he declares as confidently as he can.

\- Really ?

\- Really.

Yeosang doesn’t let go of his hand, and his eyes still seem incredibly sad.

\- It’s my fault. I didn’t realize you were tired… I should have...

\- Don’t worry, he interrupts him. Let’s just finish the recording and I’ll rest a little before the guys arrive.

He mentally curses himself for ressorting to the exact thing he was trying to get Yeosang not to do – using work as an excuse not to adress his issues – but he hated when the attention was on him for too long. While Yeosang couldn’t stand to hear _good job ,_ the words he struggled with the most were simple things like _« are you okay ? »_ or « _can I do anything for you ? »._

He’d thought so much about what it meant to love people and so little about what it meant to _be loved,_ to be _cared for,_ that the obvious manifestations of his friend’s affection for him were almost uncomfortable. There was part of his heart that was afraid he was going to disappoint them sooner or later. Love was wasted on him. He’d done nothing to deserve their kindness ; yet they all treated him like he was a precious person, worthy of all the attention in the world. Suddenly, it had become very important, whether he was okay or not.

\- Let’s not do the lines today... I’ll practice when I get home so I can do better tomorrow.

Yeosang gives him a smile.

He wondered if their short conversation had helped him make sense of why he’d struggled so much during the recording – but he was worried that his friend would end up feeling guilty for showing a disagreeable side of his personnality to him earlier.

This was a way adult poisoned their heads too ; by making them belief that their human flaws was something unforgivable. They were encouraged to pretend those didn’t exist and present a fake version of themselves to the world.

\- You’re doing fine, he blurts out without thinking. Please don’t practice more.

He had to tell him. _Your flaws are beautiful to me, so don’t hide them._

\- It’s gonna get worse if you keep practicing, actually. You do better when you let go… not everything has to be perfection. Your intuitions won’t betray you if you actually listen to them.

\- And what if my intuition tells me I have to be perfect ?

He frowns, but then realizes his friend is smirking at him, and he’d gotten so caught up in his sentimental monologue that he’d managed to miss such an obvious joke. He could blame this on the vision he’d just dealt with - in the sand world, everything was dramatic, a life-or-death matter, but he had to remind himself that reality wasn’t like this.

They were young people with a dream ; so he didn’t have to worry all the time like this.

\- I’m kidding, I understand what you mean ! Gotta follow my heart and all that, Yeosang says. I still don’t think we should keep working though. My heart is telling me it’s nap time.

With those words, his friends hand him one of the better pillows they had available in the warehouse ; and he obliges to his silent command, switching from his sitting position to lie down in a spot where they’d be comfortable together. Because the couch was often too small for the eight of them, they’d all become experts at sleeping in a pile – at least, with just Yeosang, there was enough space that he knew he wouldn’t wake up with sore muscles later on.

He was thankful for the chance to rest too. His body needed it ; while the visions left no physical damage, everything inch of his skin remembered the pain he’d been through, the rush of adrenaline, and the sensation of warm blood dripping down. His friend snuggles against him and puts his arms around his chest, providing him the last bit of safety he needed to let go of those bad memories and fall asleep.

They’re woken up an hour later by the racket of their friends coming into the warehouse. They were particularly lively today, caught up in a heated debate they’d probably started on the way there from school – Wooyoung and Yunho liked to argue about the superiority of their favorite dancers and then try to get the others to pick a side to support their arguments. It was very fun to watch, because usually they ended up ressorting to him a final autority to decide who was right. Today again, they don’t miss the opportunity to the same– he open his eyes and he’s immediatly dragged into their conversation. It’s easy from that point to fall into their usual routine.

The practice goes well. He manages to follow along with everyone to the best of his abilities and they make progress on a new choreography too. He keeps an eye on Yeosang still, but his friend appeared to have benefitted from their nap as well. Though he messes up a few steps, he doesn’t look frustrated at all, keeping his movements fluid and graceful, focusing on the intricacy of the new moves they were attempting today.

The energy of their rehearsals was always electric and intense. They gave it all that they had, laughed loudly, danced, talked even when they were out of breath ; it was a burst of ideas and enthusiasm. During that time, they got a sense of the dream they were chasing together, so it was like a race, exhilarating and gratifying like nothing they’d ever known before. A single soul expressed itself through eight bodies as they tried harder to polish a new performance, as they attempted to create an image that would be worth showing on a real stage someday.

By the time they decide to end the practice, his clothes are drenched in sweat, but he’s happy.

Yeosang is the first to leave the warehouse – his curfew was the strictest – followed by Mingi, Jongho and Wooyoung. San and Yunho stay behind to discuss some part of the choreography together, but also go home shortly after, leaving him alone with Seonghwa.

He expects him to start his cleaning routine, but his older friend comes sit on the couch with him instead. He looks preoccupied.

\- Yeosang told me you had another migraine today, he lets out. Are you taking the stuff you’ve been prescribed ?

\- With every meal. I have it in my bag if you wanna check, he answers while rolling his eyes.

While the constant nagging was very infantilizing, he was elated that Seonghwa was asking questions to him directly nowadays. They’d talked a lot together since his visit to the hospital.

\- You could sleep at my place tonight if you want…. I’ll cook something you like. Maybe the change of pace would help a little, Seonghwa says. I’d have to study for a few hours, but we could watch a dvd together once I’m done.

\- Sounds like the perfect plan, I’m in.

They’d had sleepovers before – it was almost unavoidable considering they were the only members of the team who lived on their own.

Seonghwa stayed in a tiny appartment that he helped his parents pay for with money he saved up from working part-time jobs during school breaks. His family was happy with this situation ; as long as their eldest got to attend a highschool with a good reputation, being hours away from home was a small sacrifice.

A lot of people their age would have been terrified to be left to their own devices with nobody to rely, but Seonghwa thrived in that setting. He enjoying having control over his space ; each time he’d visited, the entire appartement was pristine, without a single thing lying around or the tiniest speck of dust in sight. Even the small cactus on his desk looked healthy and well-cared for.

In comparison, the room he rented was a mess of dirty clothing and abandonned paper sheets. He’d lived in the warehouse for a long time before deciding to find a safer place to stay, and maybe wouldn’t have bothered trying at all had he not met his new group of friend, so getting the motivation to do chores and care about his place was still hard. He hadn’t invited anyone over yet.

If anything, he was more familiar with Seonghwa’s kitchen, enough to know where his weirdest utensils were stored or to be aware of the fact that his spice cabinet was organized in alphabetical order. In the bathroom too, there was always a toothbrush left for his use – that got changed every three months, something he found fascinating because it was hard to believe anybody on earth could ever remember to do that.

But Seonghwa did, because in his world – such details were of the utmost importance.

His friend begin to cook as soon as they arrive, while he takes out his homework from his bag. He didn’t plan to give it a lot of attention today, but it was better to get it out of the way as soon as possible. As he advances through his math exercises, the entire appartment progressively fills up with delicious smells that make his stomach growl.

Seonghwa takes a break from cutting vegetables to bring him a glass of water and remind him _yet again_ not to forget his medication. He was wearing a cute apron over his practice clothes – when he dressed like this, he liked to call him _chef Seonghwa_ and pretend he was attending a fancy restaurant instead of visiting his friend’s house. He knew Seonghwa enjoyed this game ; otherwise, he wouldn’t have invited him over so often.

His schoolwork get done quickly and he has time to help his friend set the table for the two of them.

The food, as always, is delicious. They don’t bicker as much as usual while eating, and he makes sure to compliment Seonghwa a lot, though he doesn’t have to force himself to have a big reaction, because each mouthful tastes like heaven compared to the convenience store food he’d been eating all week.

It was unfair, he thought, for a single person to be hoarding so many talents – cooking, housekeeping singing, dancing, there was no end to the list of things Seonghwa could do.

Once their meal is over, they take turns showering. Seonghwa lends him comfy pajamas that don’t fit his smaller frame but feel like a warm hug on his body, and he finds a nice spot to rest within a pile of blankets on the sofa while his friend get started on his own homework, a process he knew was going to take a while.

He expected Seonghwa would have disapproved of him working on the computer, so he’d just grabbed his headphones to listen to more of Mingi’s playlist. After having had it on his phone for more than a month, he still hadn’t heard all of the songs.

 _See, I’m not working myself to death,_ he thinks while glancing in Seonghwa’s direction, and off course, as irony would have it, a cheesy ballad starts playing the second he lay eyes on him. It’s not a very fancy tune, just some good singing on top of piano and the distant sound of rain. The lyrics talks about longing more than they talk about love ; but the words describe the difference beautifully.

He couldn’t help but wonder if it was possible to long for someone who was less than a meter away. _Was it selfish ? To want to occupy someone’s thoughts?_ He asked himself - if he needed Seonghwa’s attention so bad, he could just walk up to his desk, but it was more comfortable to look from afar instead of risking ever being called _needy._

He sinks a little deeper into his blanket nest.

Those recurring visions, aside from the pain, were starting to cause very strange side effects. Maybe he was starting to like the idea of _being loved_ too much.

The playlist moves on to another song, so he focuses on relaxing again, on his warm and cozy pajamas and all that felt right about this evening, all the beautiful things he had to remember to put into his lyrics tomorrow morning. He was genuinely grateful to Seonghwa ; for cooking great food, being a perfect host, and also for broadening his idea of what friendships should be like.

He almost falls asleep before his friend finishes homework. Unlike him, Seonghwa was very thorough, committed to doing extra reading and complimentary exercises he found on the internet to make sure he’d covered every aspect of a subject.

After another hour, Seonghwa finally put his textbooks down and disappears into his bedroom to get changed, coming back wearing cute blue striped pajamas, then making another stop in the kitchen to fill a tray with snacks – cookies and milk.

\- You didn’t have to force yourself to stay awake... Do you want to watch a movie that bad ? Seonghwa teases him when he sits down.

\- I just thought you’d be lonely without me, that’s all.

They agree on Iron Man for the DVD.

Despite his best efforts, he doesn’t last more than ten minutes before actually falling asleep.

The familiar setting of his vision welcomes him, but the dream is different from before.

Neither up nor down ; the grain of sands are floating in front of his eyes, undecided, a fragile equilibrium.

He walks to the glass wall and they don’t resume their fall, so he assumes he can explore his prison for a bit. The scenery is oddly calming. It’s as if the air is full of small, reflective crystals that adapt to the movements of his body.

He almost wants to dance, to see how the light would shine around him if he tried.

After wandering for a while, he realizes that the place he’s in has to be some kind of dome ; following the wall leads him back to his starting point and he can see his footsteps in sand on the ground. He’s about to continue experimenting with the limits of this place when he notices him out of the corner of his eyes.

For the first time, the man dressed in black is trying to say something to him.

T he word _heart_ is all he remembers  from it once he wakes up. 


End file.
